I’ve managed to upload the video for part 7 thanks to a friendly pub and their wifi connection.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DuV5pgY9afg&feature=channel_page

Yesterday I set off from Wolverstone on the Orwell after having a chat and a coffee with a chap called Clive who rafted up along side Kudu. The destination was the river Deben, the entrance of which is only about 5 miles up the coast from the mouth of Harwich habour.

The forecast was predicting near gales to arrive in the afternoon, but I planned to arrive before they did since the notorious Deben bar, the sandbank at the entrance to the river, is not something to contend with in rough weather. I said goodbye to Clive and cast off from the buoy under engine, making a quick beeline across the channel to avoid an approaching ship. I kept the engine on until the ship had overtaken Kudu, and then unfurled the genoa and put the main up with two reefs.

The sail out of the Orwell was fantastic, and even though the air was filled with occasional surges of rain, I was wrapped up warm and waterproof, so I didn’t care. It was good to be heading back out to sea on Kudu again.

Sailing out of the harbour was uneventful, although I did have the engine ticking over in neutral, just incase I needed it quickly. Kudu isn’t like a larger boat where you can just reach for the key and start the engine. I have to lash the tiller or risk Sinbad’s fickle navigation, then climb over the pushpit (the rails on the back of the boat) to fiddle with the choke on the outboard before pulling on the chord a few times to start it. That’s all very well and good, but not if you’re trying to get out of something’s way quickly. Fortunately, the engine was never required so as soon as I cleared the harbour wall I switched it off, sailing close hauled towards the next port hand marker buoy.

A few buoys down the channel, to be careful that I avoided the perils of the unsuspecting corner cutter of the harbour entrance, I turned Kudu downwind, to cross the shipping channel at right angles under goose winged sails. Once across the channel and safe from any ships, I put sinbad the tiller pilot in charge while I went forward to rig up a gybe preventer. This is a make shift system of rope attached to the boom which, if the boat turns to far the wrong way whilst sailing down wind, can cause a gybe.

Because the mainsail and boom are sheeted out so far, this is not only violent, but dangerous for both the boat and me. I think Sinbad has fallen out with me, because as I was busy setting this up, a wave knocked us off course and Sinbad couldn’t (or wouldn’t I’m beginning to suspect!) keep the boat on course quickly enough, so, as I feared, we gybed and for a moment the boat was out of control. I was halfway through knotting things so it took me a moment to untangle myself from the ropes and dive for the tiller. The wind and sea where starting to really build up by this point so not willing to risk another crash gybe, I dropped the mainsail, and continued under genoa furled to jib size alone.

I got the camera out and did a bit of filming, but it was getting splashed and the boat was being quite a handful so I eventually put it away again. The sea by now was displaying some big waves, from the troughs they easily towered above Kudu’s wind turbine. I wasn’t worried though, with Sinbad aside and me on the helm, the boat was totally under control and I was enjoying myself.

A couple of miles further up the shore, things started getting nervy. There was a constant 26knots of wind on our back, often gusting to 28 or 29 knots, and Kudu was charging downwind at between 4 and 5 knots over ground. This puts the true wind speed over 30knots. The forecast winds had arrived slightly sooner than expected, and the sea was not impressed.

Galloping downwind, surfing down waves that appeared to be almost the height of the spreaders on Kudu’s mast (although I’m sure they weren’t) I started to get worried. The seas were breaking around me, and while the boat was perfectly under control, and it’s skipper calm and indeed having fun, I was all too aware that the sea was only going to get more aggressive as I got to the Deben bar, were the seabed shoals and the waves get taller and steeper. To get into the Deben I would have to take these seas beam on, that’s with the boat traveling sideways to the waves.

On a broad reach I got to the outer marker buoy, then clipped on to the pushpit and climbed out over the back of the boat to start the engine which had been constantly awash in sea water as breaking waves flooded over the back of the boat. After five pulls I had a moment of worry, but it fired up on the sixth, and I returned to the cockpit to direct Kudu, now motor sailing under reefed genoa and quarter revs on the Suzuki behind, towards the port hand marker buoy for the constantly changing channel that guards the entrance to the river.

29 knots across the beam, and with a breaking sea to match, I started to wonder if I might be getting a bit scared, but the sight of the waves crashing over the sandbank just meters away left little time to ponder about such things. Me and Kudu galloped towards the relative refuge of the river, with occasional waves throwing us upwards and sideways as they broke over us. I was soaked. On the way in there were about three big waves that threw Kudu right on her side. I was fighting on the tiller to keep us both on course in the narrow channel, and as best poised to take on the waves as best I could, but these big white waves made me wonder, just for a moment, if I could keep control of my little boat.

As I turned to starboard just after the green starboard channel buoy, and entered the shelter of Felixstowe ferry, I started shivering. Now, I will stick to my guns on this; it was because I was cold and wet, but some people might suggest that now I was safe, the fear of that little entrance could let itself out. :p

A Beneteau First 36, A Moody 31, and enough booze to sink both of them. What a weekend!

North Sea Sunrise

When I stopped in Bradwell Marina I met Alan, a jester challenger who has completed a round trip to the Azores… solo!

Not only did he lend Kudu some much needed equipment and gave even more advice, but invited me to an East coast sailors meet in Oostende the following weekend. The chance to charge across the north sea on his Beneteau First 36, with 6 other like minded nutters was just too appealing to turn down, so I didn’t.

Having “parked” Kudu on a buoy at Wolverstone on the Orwell, I was due to meet up with them on Friday. Lindsey, co-skipper to Alan’s boat, and apparent sailaholic, arrived at Wolverstone to give me a lift back down to Shotley marina. The trouble was the marina was 1/4 of a mile down the river and I had a very heavy kit bag with me. I wasn’t sure if I was going to end up floating down the river with my clothes and camera kit in ruin, but having little choice in the matter, I jumped into Condom, my inflatable kayak, and sat the bulky kit bag on my lap. Kayaks are not the most stable modes of transport, so this little trip was interesting, to say the least, with my expression flickering somewhere between determination and panic.

We arrived at Alan’s boat, Mr Tinkles, and went off to sleep, after the requisite visit to the marina bar, of course. The only snag was that departure time for the 15 hour North sea crossing to Oostende was 2AM. I’m not really a fan of hard labour during hours that don’t have two digits, but I hoped to be able to top up my 30 minutes sleep on the way over.

We set off in the pitch black night, following the buoys out of Felixstowe, unable to see anything but their flashing lights and sailing away from a backdrop that is the illuminated industrial monster of Britain’s largest container port.

The wind was all but nonexistent so we motored for about an hour before the wind appeared and we got the sails up. Once you have managed to get your way out of the sand banks of England’s East coast, the first real event comes in the form of the TSS, or Traffic Separation Scheme. This is an imaginary road that runs up the north sea that keeps large ships in lanes of the same direction. You have to cross the TSS at right angles to make your journey across it as fast as possible. The ships will not move out of your way, and probably won’t even see you, so the onus is on the crew of the small yachts to keep well out of there way.

Being amongst ships of that size is pretty nervy at first, but once you’ve gotten used to identifying a risk of collision well in advance, then it’s not at all worrying since a small change in course early on means you will pass well away from each other.

Tiredness got the better of me at this point so, with the boat pitching and rolling in the North seas finest weather, I went below to put my head down. I fell asleep within seconds, and stayed like that for about an hour. In turns, all the crew did the same. It was important, vital, that we didn’t arrive in Oostende in dire need of sleep since there was a lot of drinking to be done upon our arrival.

The sunrise at sea, by the way, is a awesome thing to witness. When you’re well out of sight of land from any direction, and a bit on the chilly side, the arrival of this warm and friendly orange ball is an uplifting start to the day. The day went on to be quite a good one and we had some great sailing, crashing through the black North sea at over 7 knots for a lot of it.

About 2 hours before we arrived in Oostende the cloud appeared. At first it was just haze, but then it started to get a bit more sadistic until finally, an hour before Oostende, it start raining, chucking it down in fact. Great, especially as I was on the helm while the others cowered below citing a need to navigate. I likely story

As soon as we arrived in Oostende, the beers started flowing. There were already a load of east coast sailors in there since they had either set  off earlier than us, had faster boats, or set off the day before. Either way, that number of like minded people was a recipe for a piss up, and so it was.

The following day we all went for a walk around the town and found a place to eat. One of the boats that came over was shorthanded, with just two crew. One of the crew was very seasick on the way over which meant the owner had to singlehand for a lot of the passage. For a 15 hour sail this is a bit much really, especially with all the traffic in the North Sea, so I was asked if I could come back on his boat to help out incase the same happened again. I agreed, but later that day I was dropped with the bombshell that he planned to set off at 2am, which meant a 0115 wake up time. Oh well, he we must, we must.

I downed my last large glass of wine at 2300 that evening, then crawled into bed on my new crewing position, Roger’s Moody 31. As yacht’s go, it’s a bloody nice one. As promised the wake up call came far too early at 0115, and I reluctantly rolled out of the bunk. We had a quick bight and finally set off at 0236, into the engulfing darkness of the North Sea.

Upon seeing the sunrise, out of sight of land, I realised the early start was worth it. Which a marvel to witness. As the day progressed we had a fantastic sail, and it wasn’t until we were on the English side that the weather started to turn. Of course, being a bank holiday over in Blighty, it was no surprise that the weather was going to be crap, although we managed to just about stay ahead of the thunder storm as we charged our way back into Harwich.

I’ve had a fantastic weekend, nothing other than amazing. I have met even more unforgettable people, and learned a lot more about sailing since I had a great deal of experienced yachtsmen from which to sponge knowledge.

I am now back on Kudu, sat on a bumpy mooring on the River Orwell with the bow of the boat occasionally dropping under the water. It’s going to be a long night, but hopefully the weather settles enough for me to go a bit further North, to the River Deben tomorrow morning.

Thank you to everybody I met this weekend. I hope I can do it again sometime.

I sailed up the river Orwell today, which was interesting. I intended to test the tiller pilot a bit more, but had little chance. The wind was coming right down the river, in the direction I wanted to go, so I had to tack my way up it. The problem was the wind kept veering and backing over around 30 degrees, so sailing close hauled was a chore. Constant adjustments were required, so the tiller pilot couldn’t do it. The only alternative was to head at almost 90 degrees across the river so I was well off the wind on a broad reach, but this would have taken an age to get where I wanted to go.

In light of that I ended up pulling on the started chord and motor sailing upstream. I felt like I had cheated a bit, but c’est la vie.

Once firmly tied to the buoy in the middle of the river, I inflated condom and kayaked to the marina pontoons are Wolverstone. There was some party going on with carbon fibre delta lloyd racing yachts, so I tied up and took a walk back down the river path to Pin Mill. It was the most beautiful walk I’ve had in a long time. I felt like I was in the shire, only without hobbits.

I had a pint in the remarkably picturesque pub on the river front, surrounded by wonderful classic wooden boats, then walked back.

What a pleasant evening, although I’m feeling a bit lonely for some reason. I’ve been chatting to various people, but I crave a proper conversation. I think I’m going to be in luck for that tomorrow, when I meet up with the people I’m going to Ostende with. Not a moment too soon I feel.

At least there’s a good internet connection here.

Kudu out.

Oh, just as was about to save this, a HUGE ship just passed me on the way to Ipswitch. The buoy I’m on is a few meters away from a port side channel marker, so it passed within a few tens of meters. It’s quite strange to have a few thousands of tons of steel hum it’s way past.

A combination of a persistently poor internet connection and my video work has meant I’ve neglected the blog for a while, which is bad form really.

I woke up at 5AM yesterday, my birthday, and had one single thought on my mind: I am not going to be on a buoy in crappy weather, with no net connection or indeed power to run the laptop at all, on my birthday. I’m used to roughing it now and then, but I draw the line at letting my annual waypoints pass by. I had a flat battery in my phone too which meant I couldn’t ring my family, and for which I would, rightly so, never hear the end of.

That in mind, I hoped for a reasonable forecast, but I have to be honest, unless they were touting a full on gale, I was going go matter what. As it turns out it was peaking at force 6, which admittedly to anybody in their right mind is a bit too much for this little boat, but sensible thoughts like that rarely get you anywhere, do they.

I left the buoy in Pyefleet creek under double reefed mainsail, and headed out in to the river Colne. The wind was such that I couldn’t sail directly out of the river, so I made my way slowly to sea by tacking up the river. The boats charging back and forth from the new wind farm a few miles out had me worried; I was under sail, and indeed on port tack at one point, which means I had double rights for them to move, but as any good sailing instructor will tell you, just because you’re allowed to be there, it doesn’t mean you should. I was on a collision course with a large steel boat doing about 20knots. Eventually it got so close that I realised I probably couldn’t sail Kudu out of it’s way quick enough to avoid a collision, and I was almost reaching for the white flares to let him know I was there, presuming the skipper wasn’t paying attention, when he finally changed course and passed to my stern. He obviously knew what he was doing, but by not taking action reasonable early, it had me slightly worried.

I continued out of the river channel until I had passed a spit of land, whereby I turned East, on to a beam reach, towards the wind farm. I passed the wind farm to the North and headed into the Wallet channel, avoiding a few trawlers on the way.

Sinbad, my auto pilot, was steering the boat quite well, so I checked for close by traffic then went below to make a coffee. Another hour passed, and I went below again to make some lunch. I shoved my hand into the galley locker and pulled out the first tin I put my hands on – this is the default way of varying your meals on a boat you see – it was a tin of tapioca, or frog spawn as every school child in England calls it. Not particularly nutritious, but sod it, it’s my birthday, and I didn’t remember having this stuff since I was in primary school. I sat in the cockpit eating my frog spawn when Sinbad decided to mutiny. We were running on a broad reach by this point, which is almost downwind, and that makes the real wind strength seem much less that it actually is since you are sailing in the same direction as it is blowing. Sinbad’s strike meant Kudu turned into the wind, and since I had up all the sail she could carry in order to go downwind faster, was totally over canvassed for the force 6 in progress. We got flattened, which promptly ended my lunch while I sorted it out.

From there on in, Sinbad was in the brig. I sat at the helm for three hours, and when the tide turned against the wind it got very choppy. Waves steep enough to stop Kudu dead in her tracks, but luckily we were running with them, so rather than stop, we surfed. It takes a bit of practice before you get the hang of navigating waves like that. I found I had to look behind and preempt what the wave was about to do to the boat, then counter it on the tiller. If the wave wanted to turn us to port, and I turned us to starboard, then we’d charge down the wave until it finally overtook us and we dropped off the back. If I got the timing wrong, it meant I had to really work on the tiller with quite some force to stop the boat turning, and possible gybing, which in a force 6 in a 21 foot boat, puts the entire rig at risk. The three hours into Harwich were fun, but tiring. It made me realise that I’m going to be in trouble without Sinbad as crew. No breaks for a wee, or a brew, or food. Just tiller time.

Entering Harwich/Felixstowe, a harbour created around the confluence of the rivers Stour and Orwell, was humbling. Felixstowe is one of the biggest container terminals in Britain, and here I was in my “house”, my 21ft portable island, struggling for control over the sea against a backdrop of truly massive ships who’s captains hadn’t even noticed it was windy outside until they got the weather report. Even if they did see you from a hundred feet high in their steel castles, it is almost certain that they could avoid hitting you since they have so much momentum. To be sandwiched between these giants and an angry sea having a fight with the harbour wall was almost worrying, if it weren’t for the fact that I knew these both meant I was very close to shelter and a shower, which after 4 days afloat, was quite appealing.

I radioed Shotley marina and asked if they had a berth for me. They did, and I was instructed to call them again when outside the lock gates. At this point the tide was pushing me up the river and the 25 knot winds were pushing down it. I had to juggle control of the boat with the job of getting the sails down, and for the first time on this passage I had to start the engine to help hold me still, into the wind.

When I finally got into the lock, I was joined by a similarly sized boat to Kudu, but with three crew. I got chatting to them as the lock was flooded to the same level as the marina, and in passing mentioned that the weather today (mostly sunny until the end) was a fantastic birthday present.

They offered their help in getting Kudu tied up to the pontoon, which is a bit of a nervy affair when single handed, and then to my great surprise, invited me onto their boat for a very welcome cup of tea and a slice of birthday cake; yet another testament to the people of the East coast. If you three chaps from the river Deben ever read this, I thank you for that unexpected welcome.

I had intended to to find a bottle of wine to celebrate both my 26th birthday and my arrival in Suffolk, but all the local shops turned out to be closed, so instead I dived into Kudu’s beer rations and spent the night editing video for my youtube series, and ultimately dined on a tin of cornbeef hash.

The following day, today in fact, I was halted whilst on the phone by a strange man offering me a spare auto pilot. He was Peter, yet another addition to the debt I owe to the people around here. He offered me a lift to Ipswitch, to the not so local Tesco for me to stock up on much needed supplies of water and food, and indeed did me the great favour of sorting out my baggy reefed mainsail issue with a keen eye for the trajectory of my single line reefing system.

So anyway, Shotley marina, the title of this post. I have to tell you about this place. It is the nicest marina I have ever visited. The staff are friendly, the facilities are second to none that I’ve ever encountered in a marina (they even have baths!) and the onsite chandler is not only remarkably eager to help, but doesn’t charge a premium for the service. Also, the bar/restaurant offers excellent food from the limited sample I had (a bacon butty). In all, I will be sorry to leave this place, but my goal of roud Britain and my lack of finds require I do, so onward I go tomorrow. Up the river Orwell to wait for the weekend, when I’ll hopefully be crewing my way to Oostende.

I’ve arrived at Shotley Marina (more on that in a post later) and have finally got a net connection good enough to upload videos.

As such, I finished editing one yesterday and also managed to upload part 3, which has been sitting on my laptop for a while now.

Part 3: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dVWpEoGsXeA&feature=channel_page

Part 4: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pBxxrVO_keA&feature=channel

I got bored of sitting at strange angles on the mud, far up the Brightlingsea creek, so I decided I would head over the river to Pye fleet creek, allegedly one on the nicest anchorages in Britain… I’m not yet convinced, although I don’t think I’ve gone far enough into it.

The sea is still in a bad mood out there, so I was glad the windward slog out of Brightlingsea to the South cardinal marker was a short one. Once there I turned to a beam reach and pointed to the creek on the other side of the River Colne.

One annoying thing, since I had a plentiful source of power yesterday, I decided to watch a film last night, but stupidly fell asleep and left the laptop running on the inverter. I woke this morning to find the batteries had dropped to 12.2v, so I’m on a power ration day today hoping the little Rutland wind turbine will top them up; the solar cells are doing a great deal of nothing with this cloud cover.

I’ve started filming part five of the videos, but haven’t yet edited part four, or indeed be able to upload part three with the ropey connections I’ve been getting. Hopefully when I reach the Deben (possibly heading to Shotley first now) I will be able to catch up with it all.

Right, well I’d better save the laptop battery. This mooring is fairly exposed, so it could be an interesting night. If the wind veers too much I’m going to be sitting in a roller coaster! :p

I had a few problem this morning so ended up setting off nearly an hour late. Firstly the Shore power cable was tapped by the pontoon against the pile that supports it. I had arrived on a rising tide, where there was a slight gap to run the cable, but leaving on an ebb, the gap was no more. I’ve shredded the cable, but it’s no big deal; an easy repair.

Then I discovered that in my haste to finish the rewiring job, which I only completed late last night, I had wired the power cable back to front. Oops. I got a screw driver out and sorted it, then left the screw driver clipped to the switch panel incase I encountered anymore niggles, which I did.

After I had set off I’d realised I’d done the same thing with the autopilot. D’oh! I’m not as stupid as I might first sound upon reading this, I promise, it’s just the guy who did the wiring in the first places used speaker cable, so I wasn’t sure which side (both the same colour)  he’d used for positive. Anyway, after all that was up and running, I raised the sails, put a reef in the main, remembered the forecast, but another reef in, and set off down the river.

Then things got a bit hairy. Once out to sea, conditions got pretty bad. The wind was sustained at 23 knots, with gusts upping that a little, and the sea was in a horrid state as it was wind over tide, a notorious condition for whipping up waves due to the friction of the opposing fluids (air and water).

It was getting quite difficult to keep Kudu on course and the waves were steep enough to make it slightly worrying to take them on the beam, so when big one’s came – which was often – I luffed up a bit to take them on the bow, then resumed course has I came down the back of the wave. I missed one though and it broke over the side of the boat, sending a torrent of water over the coachroof and into the cabin. After the second similar wave struck, I was beginning to have doubts about being out there. I look at the plotter, noticed I was just passing the East bank of the River Blackwater, although 2 miles out to sea. If was decision time. If I continue, I’ve got a long slog to the next safe haven at the Walton backwaters. Eventually prudence got the better of me and I resigned to the fact that in the absence of any experience in sea like this, I didn’t know if I was safe or not. I wasn’t scared, but I had stopped enjoying myself, so I made a run into the Blackwater.

Kudu surfed her way towards the land under goose winged sails, regularly hitting 6knots over ground, and I saw a brief peak of 6.9 knots. That’s against the tide! I’m not sure Corribee’s are meant to be surfed, but it was quite exhilarating. 

Still under sail I made my way into the shelter of Brightlingsea creek, once I was in there I furled the genoa, and continues my way up the creek looking for an anchorage. The creek decided my resting spot on my behalf, and I’m writing this with the boat sat on the mud, listed over at 20 degrees.

I’m a gutted I’m not in the Deben, and I’m gutted I bottled it and came in, but I think with reflection, it was the right decision.

I’m still getting 25knots of wind, and the Rutland is pumping out power, so I’m going to have no problems running the laptop this evening. I think a few films are in order :p